


A Third Wheel

by summerof16



Series: Telling Tales of Asgard [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Loki is a wanderer, Pining, Post Infinity War, Post Ragnarok, References to Norse Religion & Lore, Tells stories at taverns to get free drinks, Who doesn't love freebies?, pre-thor stories, references to past thor/sif
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-23
Updated: 2018-06-23
Packaged: 2019-05-27 14:02:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15026210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerof16/pseuds/summerof16
Summary: (This can be read as a standalone story)At a tavern on a foreign realm, Loki tells a love-story. Or at least a story about someone he loved.He doesn't expect the subject of his story to walk into that very tavern as he tells it.





	A Third Wheel

**Author's Note:**

> This can be read as a standalone story.  
> Also some brotherly jealousy.

_“Tell us a love story, Traveller!” a gangly, brunette woman exclaimed. She stumbled and pushed over her chalice of mead, knocking the red contents all over the wooden bench. It oozed down the edges, thicker than water but slipperier than blood._

_The Traveller, a pale man of indeterminate age with piercing green eyes, raised an eyebrow. He tilted his head a little, derisively looked at the fresh puddle and pulled his chalice a little closer to himself._

Perhaps pouring liquids at the feet of plants may work in this realm, but if you wish me to be amenable to your requests, you may resort to giving me mead in a chalice instead, _he said levelly, causing nearby regulars to chuckle._

_“I didn’t mean to-“ the woman blushed, looking around quickly for a cloth, or anything at all to wipe the mess away with, but none of the usually buzzing attendants was nearby. “Does anyone have a-“ She turned, looking around, as all shook their heads or averted their gazes, not wishing to be a part of this._

_The Traveller sighed. Eyeing the puddle still, he pulled out a handkerchief from within his cloak and dropped it onto the puddle, not noticing another traveller woman enter the tavern. Her boots were caked in mud, and her cloak was well-worn. She had sheathed her weapon on her back, and only the hilt was visible. She walked silently, to a free bench near the bar itself, climbing laboriously onto a high chair. She grit her teeth, one hand pressing against her side._

_The latest war wound healed very slowly._

_“Please, sir! Please a love story!” A young girl exclaimed from her portly father’s lap. She was barely tall enough to see him from her comfy perch directly across from him._

_The traveller felt a pang in his heart at the image. There had once been a time when another portly man had often sat across from him with his energetic brood running circles around them all. They had been better times, marred perhaps with petty jealousies and anger, but there was naught to be done now. The many was gone. The children were too._

_His hands trembled slightly as he propped his chin on his hands, and hunched forward, observing the ripples in his chalice. They cascaded from side to side as the gangly brunette wiped at the table._

_“Please?” the young girl asked softly, making big eyes at him. She pouted, jutting her lower lip out like a wounded puppy. A line appeared between his brows and his lips turned downward._

_A love story. Of all the tales in the cosmos, they desire a love story._

_He leaned back in his chair, and squared his shoulders, taking a deep breath to steady himself._

I suppose I can…

_The girl screamed and clapped eagerly as the others murmured in approval._

_“Hush little one,” her father murmured in a low baritone voice, stroking her hair back, “You don’t want to miss the tale, do you?”_

_She clapped her hands over her mouth and shook her head fervently._

_The Traveller couldn’t help the slightest smile from escaping him. What a strange turn of events this night has taken… He closed his eyes for a moment and composed himself, going through the library of his memories, searching for the right tale. He had not received or sought much romantic love in his youth or in adulthood, having turned to other pursuits after... Yes, he would tell that tale, then. His opened his eyes, and they glinted with a story awaiting to be told after so many millenia. He slipped seamlessly into the mask of the storyteller and smiled, a feral edge to his lips._

What is a love story but a tale of love and all its woes? I shall tell you a tale as you desire, but it may not be the tale you expect. I shall, as oft before, tell you a tale of Asgard. Of the peoples of the land, and its princes. I have seen much in my time there, and I have been blessed to know when a lie is told to me, and I promise you, verily, this story is true and none is a lie. So listen very carefully to what I say.

After the Allfather locked away the repugnant daughter of his, he raised his son and hers as brethren. As brother’s in all but his affection. The former was a golden child. His hair the colour of wheat, and his eyes as bright as sapphires. All loved the boy, and all wished to be the young warrior-sprout’s friend. It was different for the latter. The Foundling. The black-haired scourge. The young monster in a sheep’s skin. He was not like the other boys. His heart bore fruit not for battle, but for books and sorcery. He studied hard and worked for all his attainments while the other brawled and smiled to gain his favours. From a young age, the monster did not find love or acceptance amongst the youth of Asgard. He was naught but the pesky younger brother, the one who would come along but not be at the heart of any conversation. He was a perfect shadow. A perfect foil. None saw him. Not even his so-called brother.

At least, until the day _she_ arrived.

_“Yes!” the girl exclaimed, “A princess!”_

_The Traveller chuckled throatily and shook his head._

She was anything but a princess. One might even say she was more of a stable boy than a Lady if it were not for her shimmering tresses. And, truthfully, in that regard, she was certainly more like a horse than a Lady.

_People guffawed, and the Traveller smirked, his lips turning up into a wry smile. She would kill me if she knew, the Traveller thought to himself. The traveller-woman's brows knit together at the sound of laughter. She turned a little, and only saw the back of the hooded Traveller, as all eyes were on him. There was something familiar about the way he held himself._

The girl- for at the time the princes and the girl were still young and not even of age yet to join the warriors on quests- she was a sight to behold. Her knees were knobbly, and she looked like she could have been a waif if it were not for the grim set of her mouth when she frowned in concentration. She was the daughter of a berserker who had fallen in battle against Niddhoggr during the last great uprising of Niflheim and she too had the berserker spirit run through her veins.

_The Traveller paused and picked up his chalice, transfixed by the liquid once again. He took a long swig and did not feel the accusing hazel eyes of the Traveller-woman bore into his shoulders. Loki, she seethed. She reached back to grip the hilt of he sword, but stopped herself. She mustn't cause a scene. Innocents could be harmed. Scowling, she indicated for the barman to refill her chalice._

The young monster knew of her love for sword-play and spoke to the Allfather, using the honeyed words his true mother, Queen Frigga, had taught. He spun a lie so smooth it might as well have been silk. And before he knew it, the young Lady was beside him and his brother at the weekly training. They fought together, they played together, and they went on little quests together in and around Asgard. The three were inseparable, and soon the little monster felt a warmth blossom within his chest every time she looked at him fondly or said his name in frustration. To be in her presence became paramount to him. To be close to her became his dream.

_His lips curled down again, and he was so far gone in his thoughts that he did not see the confused expressions that people shot the traveller woman, who had grown deathly pale. He inhaled shakily._

He did not know the name of the feeling. Perhaps it was infatuation, perhaps love, or perhaps just a passing whimsy- or so he would tell himself. But the feeling never seemed to pass. It grew stronger in time, and as they grew up, he saw in her, his closest friend and ally, and the woman he desired in both flesh and mind.

 _“Now that’s a story_ I _wanna hear,” a ruddy-cheeked man laughed, ribbing his friend playfully._

_“Bet the rascal took her maidenhead,” his slouching friend guffawed, slapping his hand on the desk._

_The Traveller glared at the men and jutted his chin out, pressing his lips into a thin line. He exhaled sharply and levelled them with a murderous expression that caused them to draw away a little and mutter sorries under their breath like chastised children. The Traveller nodded curtly and continued._

Unlike his brother and their other friends, she was the one who lit up his world. The one who pulled him out of spirals of inadequacy, as he too pulled her from the edges of despair often enough. She was his boulder.  She was the one who heard and saw him and made him feel not lesser than, but equal in worth. Deserving of hope and maybe even love. She was the one he could rely on.

_He swallowed hard._

Until the boulder rolled away.

_The traveller woman felt her stomach twist. This was not how she remembered their youth. Had time and anger clouded her memories and tainted all of them with anger and hatred? Had there not truly once been a time when they had been close and trusting as Loki made it out to be?_

_She watched him bow his head again in thought, picking away at the skin of his left palm._

The young monster found himself more and more alone after some time. He loved his brother and the woman dearly, and both were naught to be found. This happened not once, not twice, not thrice, but many times over. He would seek them out but the search would be fruitless. Sometimes he would hear that they had been busy or that they were training in private or that they were undertaking smaller quests which were not something that required magic- and magic would not be welcome at these quests either.

Indeed, the young monster found himself more alone than he had bargained for or desired.

As the days wore on and turned into years, he wished no longer to have his heart trampled on by the two he had loved most. It was better to be the one rejecting than to be the one who was unwanted. He began concocting excuses and reasons to cease his presence with the little gang of warriors he had once called friends. He would no longer train with them, and he would be found more often in the library than in the fields where he had once grown up and cartwheeled with the three warrior friends and the young Lady.

He desired only one thing after all was said and all was done. He wished to no longer feel unwanted.

_The Traveller paused, his eyes going unfocused for a few moments before he took a steadying breath._

He pulled away from all, and though they called him aloof and arrogant, he could, at last, feel the sting of rejection dull until it was but a pinprick in the back of his mind. At its dullest, he would return to the fold, and seek them out again, until they ignore him once more or brushed his value and merits aside again.

_His knuckles grew white as he clutched his chalice tighter._

Every time he would come back to their poisonous lair and limp off with a greater tear to the heart.

_“This doesn’t sound like a love story,” a woman gulped, turning to her husband._

_“I don’t know,  dearest, I trust the Traveller. I’m sure he has a point.”_

_The woman gave her husband an unhappy look and sighed._

_“I suppose…” she murmured, turning back to the Traveller, whose posture became more and more stiff. Agitated, almost._

At some point, the young mage despaired deeply. He had lost both of them, he thought. All of them. His family and the one he loved...

And he blamed himself.

_"What the-" a young man began, but was silenced by the Traveller's sobering, unhappy eyes._

It was his fault, after all, for letting it happen. For not trying hard enough, for not being a good enough warrior, for not being the one that any of them wished to be with. He deserved to be ostracized, he told himself.  He didn’t _deserve_ the closeness. There was something wrong with him. He was wrong, and different, and not like the others.

He simply wasn’t good enough to be one of them or even to merely be with them.

_A stocky man's breath hitched, his voice thick with emotion, but he buried the sound beneath a series of fake coughs. The Traveller gave him a sympathetic, wry smile. He was no stranger to sadness._

And thus, the mage would work harder, study even more, and hide away in the palace library so often that those who curated the books were on such a familiar basis with the prince that they no longer were surprised when they found him in the darkest corners at night, holding a time-candle which was waning to its base.

_“Oh no!” the girl squeaked, clutching the wooden bench with all her might. “How will she fall in love with him if he’s hiding?”_

_The traveller-woman's heart sank like a brick in water._

_The Traveller just smiled meekly at the child and merely shook his head. The naivete of the youth was always unparalleled._

The young monster blended in so well with the furnishings of the library that even the maids no longer seemed to see him there. It was thus that one day he overheard the idle chatter of two. The chatter that would change his life.

_“What did they say, good Traveller?” A man asked from across the room. “Was it something about him?”_

_The Traveller's eyes flashed to the man and the young girl._

If only it had been, _he said wrily._ They said something so simple, that he, with all his intellect and knowledge, felt as smart as a new-born. They only said ‘The prince and the shieldmaiden are such a beautiful couple,’ and wished happiness upon the couple.

_“What?” the girl yelled, standing on her father’s lap. “No! She’s supposed to be with the boy! Not his brother! No, no, no, no no!”_

_“Hush child,” her father said, grabbing her by her waist and seating her down again. “Do not interrupt elders as they speak.”_

_“But it’s so silly! She should be with the mage! He loves her!”_

But that is not how life works, little one. She loved another, and the young mage could do nothing. He started watching them, started noticing that there was indeed something blossoming there. He’d merely been blind in his pain.

_The traveller-woman's stomach clenched at the memories came flooding back. That early love, that reckless joy. The way she'd clung to every moment with Thor. How she had been a fool..._

They were in love- the eldest and the Lady… and yet…

They did not truly pursue their feelings. She had yet to prove herself truly, and the eldest had long ways to go with his princely duties and training.

Despite knowing he should feel for the plight of the star-crossed lovers, the mage only grew angry at them. Not because of some misplaced belief that he had ever had a place in her heart. No, because of something much deeper than that.

It dawned on the young prince, that all of his pain, all of his suffering from the repeated rejection and discrimination had not in fact been because of his inadequacy. No. _The Traveller laughed mirthlessly, grabbing another goblet of mead._ It was all because these fools were in love with one another and would not act on it. Their desire for each other was what left him stranded and alone. It was what had fuelled all the nights of fear and sorrow. Instead of openly declaring their love for one another and telling him that they were not indeed rejecting him for him, they hurt him through the silence and the ambiguity.

His anger spilt forth from his very being, his vision darkening with the rage that swelled within him. They caused him agony. He would be theirs.

_“Damn,” the gangly-brunette woman, holding the still wet handkerchief, whispered beneath her breath._

In the solace of night, he found the Lady’s sleeping form, and silently lest he should wake her, cut off her equine tresses. The golden locks fell to the floor, coating it like a rug.

It was when he bent down to pick it up, that he truly saw her baldness up close. Her head was as smooth as a newborn's. Even the roots had disappeared due to his handiwork. He was a skilled mage, and not a fledgling. He saw the calm expression that overtook her in her dreams and felt his heart sink within him. The anger melted away leaving behind only the despair he had grown accustomed to, before this too melted away to allow guilt to take its place.

What had he done?

It was not about him. Their problems were their own, and it was painful for them as much as it was painful for him.

She yawned then, as he still stood hovering by her side. She pressed the back of her hand over her mouth, and proceeded to run it through her-

She froze, tapping all over her head.

Her eyes flashed open and she saw him.

“I’m so sor-“

“What have you done!” she yelled so loudly that she must have awoken the whole palace, as she hurtled off the bed in a fell swoop and rammed into him.

_The traveller-woman cringed._

He dropped the bundle of hair and was pinned onto a marble pillar, hitting his head hard against it. She hit him as hard as her calloused hands would allow. “How dare you defile my being! Now all will think that I was a harlot and deserved such a punishment.”

He stared at her in horror, not protesting, though he groaned at each injury.

“You’re a vile creature,” she cried out, tears pricking at her eyes, and he knew it to be true. “You’re a monster, a beast, a piece of-“

_The traveller’s eyes flickered to the little girl whose face scrunched up in sorrow. She sniffed loudly and clutched onto her father._

I am sorry, _the Traveller murmured, and stood up, gulping down his last drops of mead._ Perhaps this wasn’t a love story after all. Forgive me for my callousness, young one.

 _He pulled his black cloak closer around his shoulders and rushed out of the tavern, shaking as the door slammed shut behind him. His heart rung in his ears._ You’re a fool to tell that story. A fool. Always a fool for her.

_The tavern stayed silent for a long time as none dared to move, so taken aback by the unfinished tale. The girl curled up against her father and wailed softly._

_“Hush, sweet girl,” her father murmured. “It is all right. It is just a story. It’s not real, my child. Only a story.”_

_Others murmured words of agreement, trying to sooth the child._

_All but one._

_Sif touched the crown of her black-haired head through the hood of her cloak and pressed the palm of her other hand over her mouth to suppress a sob as silent hot tears streamed down her cheeks._

 

So that’s why he had done it.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading this! Please leave a comment!


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